


A băga mâna în foc pentru cineva (put your hand in the fire for someone)

by rthstewart



Series: The Stone Gryphon [12]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - rthverse, Cold War, Gen, Original Characters - Reginald Tebbitt, Spare Oom, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29843049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/pseuds/rthstewart
Summary: For Vialethe and loveandrockmusic, in which a daring rescue is made.Written For the Three Sentence FicathonSpoiler:  Not three sentencesNarnia, rthverse Susan/Tebbitt,to kiss in cars/and downtown bars/was all we needed
Relationships: Susan Pevensie/Original Male Character(s)
Series: The Stone Gryphon [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/15017
Comments: 21
Kudos: 35





	A băga mâna în foc pentru cineva (put your hand in the fire for someone)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ViaLethe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViaLethe/gifts), [loveandrockmusic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandrockmusic/gifts).



A logical sequel to [Home Thoughts, From Abroad](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28555290)

Valeriu really hated it when the KGB came to take their prizes and trophies. The Soviets were all greedy pigs and always looked down their noses at the Romanian Securitate, like they were Slavs or _Turks_. But it was the Romanian secret police who had found the Imperialist spy creeping about the Sovromcuarț in Băița. It was such a joke – they called it quartz, but everyone knew you didn’t want to hang around that mine very long if you ever wanted to have kids. The Soviets weren’t taking quartz out of Romania, but uranium, for their nuclear program it was whispered. It was just more Romanian wealth that Prime Minister Gheorghiu-Dej was giving away to Khrushchev.  
  
Along with the spy _we_ caught.  
  
At their shabby jail that afternoon, it was just him, and the spy, and the clerk behind the desk pretending to work and pretending to answer a telephone that also didn’t work. _You pretend to work and they pretend to pay you._ He’d drawn the duty because he’d lost the poker game last night so his supervisor and his supervisor and the rest of the team were still at the restaurant for lunch – Stoica had brought a whole Coke bottle of his home brewed țuică and the kitchen had said they’d kill a chicken instead of the usual porc. And porc. And sausage that was mostly cereal and dirt.  
  
He’d expected a bigger party when they showed up, but there were only three people. Still, they were pretty impressive and _very_ Russian. The woman was blonde and skinny and wearing a lot of red lipstick and a fur coat – the real kind, mink he thought, not cat or rabbit. There were two men. One was tall and blonde, looked pure ethnic Russian and didn’t say anything but was the sort of KGB muscle who had probably killed a thousand Nazis in Stalingrad. _Tall and Dumb_ , Valeriu decided, and _he'd rip my spine out if I say the wrong thing._ The other was a shorter, slimmer dark-haired man who gave him a cigarette – a real American Marlboro -- and asked him, in Romanian, if he wanted some chocolate or a condom – Valeriu took both. This goon was _Not Tall-Not Dumb_.  
  
The men were both carrying Kalashnikovs – his own pistol was cheap, East German, and didn’t have any bullets. He did wonder how the Soviets had gotten to their dirty little Securitate jail in Băița. He didn’t see a car. Maybe they’d flown and landed at the local airfield and someone had given them a ride. He didn't think the woman could have walked very far in those high heels. He would have liked to have seen their car if they’d driven – maybe it was a Mercedes.  
  
He was wondering how this would happen since he didn’t speak Russia, but since the woman and the dark haired man both spoke Romanian, with pretty heavy Russian accents, it was fine. Their paperwork was in order for the prisoner transfer. They even had real staples for the stamped and ribboned file – only the Securitate headquarters in București got staples; here in the wilds, they had to use straight pins or a needle and thread to hold official documents together.  
  
Valeriu led them to the spy. They’d gotten orders not to beat him too much because Moscow Centre wanted him unspoiled. So the tall, skinny blonde man just had a black eye and two broken fingers.  
  
He unlocked the cell and the man looked up from the bench he was chained to and cried, “Irina!”  
  
The woman stalked into the cell like an angry lion, hauled back and slapped the man across the face, then swung back and slapped him again, this time with her nails raking his cheek and leaving deep scratches.  
  
Valeriu didn’t know the furious Russian that spewed from the woman’s mouth but it was filled with profanity. Irina – he knew that wasn't her name -- spat something else out, grabbed the man by the filthy shirt and planted a vicious, angry kiss that they probably felt all the way to Oradea. She dropped his collar like it was a hot poker and pulled back, leaving a smear of red lipstick across his face that mixed with the blood trickling down his cheek.  
  
Not Tall-Not Dumb barked a rough laugh and said in Romanian, “He really shouldn’t have fucked her and then fucked her.” He held out his hand and Valeriu gave him the keys.  
  
Irina jerked her head and said in Romanian, “Just unlock him from the chair. Keep the manacles on.”  
  
The spy said something else, with a grin that Valeriu thought was very dangerous.  
  
Proving him right, Irina spun back around, perfectly balanced on her high heeled shoes, and hit him again.  
  
_At least we didn’t break his nose._  
  
Irina marched out first. The goons, Tall and Dumb and Not Tall-Not Dumb, unlocked the spy and hauled him to his feet.  
  
“I can get our car and take you to your transportation.” The Dacia even had a little petrol though the Soviets would probably laugh at it. The bottom was rusted out and they’d have to keep their feet up.  
  
“Thank you, yes, please,” Irina said. “We’ll wait out front.”  
  
But by the time Valeriu got the keys from the safe and moved the dogs and pig that were blocking his exit out of the yard where they parked the Dacia, the Soviets and the spy were gone.


End file.
